


Instruction VI

by DirtyDuchess



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyDuchess/pseuds/DirtyDuchess
Summary: Joan's floor needs waxing...





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Ifitbelove with grateful thanks for your recent career assistance and advice, given that Joan doesn't currently have a vacancy ;-)

Tuesday afternoon. I was washing the floor in the open plan downstairs in Joan's immaculate house. After every five boards I detached the mop head and rinsed it, after every ten boards I changed the water and added fresh detergent, as instructed. Halfway across the floor I looked up from the hypnotic trance of my mop motion to see Joan watching me by the foot of the stairs. Her long arms were folded across her ample bosom, she was in shirtsleeves and work pants but barefoot. I hadn't heard her come in. Without preamble Joan began to complain about new-fangled mops that allegedly clean "with just water". She laughed in a very humourless way as she said it. "As if that's hygienic. I do hope there's antibacterial floor cleaner in that bucket"  
"Of course. I always follow your instructions. Joan. And besides, I'm sure you probably watched me add it just now." Her mouth twitched at my sass but she didn't reply. It felt strange saying her name, given that I knew nothing about her but I couldn't deny that I'd been unable to get her, and what she'd done to me, out of my head for a week. My research was completely off schedule. Every time I sat down at my desk I saw our combined reflections in the mirror, felt her weight on my back. And that usually led to....well put it this way, overnight I'd become a compulsive masturbator. Just thinking about her heavy breathing and hot breath in my ear was enough to get me dripping. 

As I waited for the floor to dry (my written instructions required me to wait a full ten minutes before walking on or touching any freshly cleaned surface) Joan launched into another diatribe about the new liquid wax she'd seen advertised in some house magazine - probably called The Minimalist - and how it was supposed to feed the wood to stop it becoming brittle, even through the paint. I was so fixated on her moving mouth that I didn't hear much of what she actually said other than she'd ordered some online and actually seemed excited at the prospect of trying it out. "Well come on then, time's up," she said finally. A click of those long fingers woke me from my reverie.

Joan handed me a fresh pair of black gloves and watched me intently through narrowed eyes as I put them on. I could tell she was scrutinising my reaction and saw a faint smile at the corners of her mouth as a flush spread across my chest at the feel of the latex and the anticipation of what Joan might do next. She handed me the bottle of wax and a soft cloth. "You'll need to get down on your hands and knees. Sorry." I could tell from her facial expression that she wasn't sorry in the slightest but then neither was I. I sank to my knees watching her the whole time, drinking her in. She was utterly captivating. I quickly calculated that at full kneel my face was exactly level with her crotch. I eyed it intentionally, hopefully! 

"Squeeze a bit onto that end board there, about the size of a 10 cent coin. Rub it in sparingly." She continued to supervise and give instructions and encouragement. Following them to the letter I began to wax the floor. On all fours. "Remember that circular motion," she stated, her deep voice dripping with innuendo. I was already wet just from looking at her. Add the latex and the position I was in on the floor and my imagination was running wild.

"You're going to work up quite a sweat, you know, doing the whole floor. I might even need you to do some overtime. But right now I think you'd be more comfortable with less on." I sat back on my haunches hardly able to believe my luck or contain my anticipation. I took a deep breath and lifted my Nike vest over my head, revealing my breasts to her. She stared at them and I saw the very tip of her pink tongue briefly dart out between those full, red lips before she became impassive once more. Raising myself to my knees I slowly slid my shorts over my hips and my damp bush, then sat back on the floor to discard them over my ankles making sure she could see right between my legs as I did so. I wondered if her eyesight was good enough to see the wetness from where she stood. 

"Do you always wear so little for work or just in my house?"  
"Always. It's exerting work, Joan. Shall I continue?" She nodded and silently observed as I got back on all fours, her head cocked to one side to watch my breasts sway as I resumed applying the wax. I made sure to give her a good show. My clit was now pulsing between sticky swollen lips and I was sure she must be able to smell the juices slowly pumping from my hole. I felt so hot, so sexual, so alive. I forced myself to continue polishing the floor and glance only at Joan's slim, elegant feet. She moved closer but behind me. I was aware of her presence but my blindness and excitement at what might happen was heightening my arousal to fever pitch. I heard the click of knees and the unmistakable snap of latex. Fuuck, what was she going to do! 

Suddenly I felt her tower over me again. Jesus she was on her hands and knees too! "Careful," she said sharply, slapping my hand hard with her own latex-clad palm. "You need to apply the wax more sparingly here otherwise the effect won't be even across the board. Apply little and often." She pressed her crotch into my arse but was suddenly gone again. She reappeared by my side with her own cloth and proceeded to demonstrate. "Looks good doesn't it? It even smells good." She'd unbuttoned her shirt almost halfway and I could see the tantalising curve of her creamy breasts as she knelt beside me. Joan sat back on her haunches and inhaled deeply, her large nostrils dilating at the smell of the wax. She smiled at me knowingly, making my insides clench. "Do continue." She vanished from view again then out of nowhere I felt her slide one finger beneath my butt cheeks. She began to lightly circle my arsehole, making me gasp. More fingers dipped into my sodden entrance before vanishing, "You dirty, wet girl," and then plunging inside me. 

Glancing over my shoulder I could see Joan kneeling behind me fucking me with her gloved hand, a look of the upmost concentration on her handsome face. She was rough at first then gentle, then rough again, twisting, fucking, constantly responsive to the noises involuntarily pouring from me. "Touch your breasts," she ordered. I cupped them and pressed them; pulled at my nipples until I felt it deep in my cunt. Then suddenly she was on my back again, latching her mouth onto my shoulder. God it hurt but it felt so good, the bite burned deep in the muscle. I heard Joan's zip, felt her fumble with her trousers, one hand still inside me, then she began to rub herself roughly against my hip, her breaths coming in rasps. "What do you want? Tell me, say it!" I could tell she was getting off on the power of the situation, having me naked on her floor. I knew that if I was unable to articulate what I wanted, needed, from her she'd pull her fingers out of me and leave. She was in utter control. "Fuck me harder. And touch me, I need you to touch me." 

"That's it, my girl." Her voice was thick with arousal and the occasional grunt as she heaved herself against me, rubbing her clit hard against me with the momentum of her fucking. Her fingers felt divine inside me. So thick, I was so full. And then empty before she thrust into me again. "Touch me, Joan please," I begged. My fingers slid to my nipples again, stretching them hard, pressing the solid breast flesh into my chest. Longer fingers probed and slid between my slippery outer and inner lips until they found my swollen bud. She circled it before touching it directly, making me convulse. "Too sensitive, hhmm?" she whispered in my ear. "Then let's try it like this." 

She traced the stem of my clit, slid the hood gently back and forth, moved figures of eight around it, until I was panting and heaving, pressing my cunt onto one of her hands and my clit into the other. This was a woman practised in the art of making love to her own kind. I felt the pressure building deep inside me and moaned. I tried to straighten up, the need to press my back into Joan's chest overwhelming me. She used the weight of her powerful body to stop me so instead I looked under my arm to watch her, her trousers now round her own knees, wet cunt slapping against the back of my thigh. The sight of her muscled, thrusting thighs ending in a thick, black bush, heightened my arousal to epic proportions. I rotated my hips and told Joan I needed her to fuck me deeper, harder. I focused completely on the pressure building in my cunt and the hypnotic, rhythmic sway of Joan's thighs. As my senses shrank inwards, I was only dimly aware of her lower body convulsing against me, of her fingers slowing to seek and scrape over that sweetest of spots inside me, of the indirect yet focused pressure on my clit that finally opened the dam against which the pressure in my cunt had been pounding. Sweet, aching release...and total body collapse onto the floor.

Joan rested one still-gloved hand between my shoulder blades as she gently pulled her fingers from my flooded cunt. She stroked my bum almost tenderly before slapping it hard. "Come on, this floor won't wax itself." Without further ado she pushed herself to her feet, smirking as my eyes sought one last glimpse of that tantalising bush before she pulled up and fastened her trousers, then turned and headed up the stairs. "See you next week."


End file.
